


Hard As I Try, I Know I Can't Quit. Something About You Is So Addictive.

by where_havealltheflowers_gone



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Character Development, Confrontations, Cuddling & Snuggling, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Misunderstandings, This got away from me, bottom!Ian, changed!Mickey, hesitant!Ian, protective!Fiona, top!Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/where_havealltheflowers_gone/pseuds/where_havealltheflowers_gone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My dad is a fucked-up, phsycopathic prick who would rather me be straight and miserable than gay and happy.  And that's what Ian does for me; he makes me happy.  I know I'm shit for him and I know you all hate me because I'm the reason he left, but.. goddamnit, I did what I had to to keep him safe.  And if that's not love...fuck everything I know." </p>
<p>In which Mickey tries to be someone better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard As I Try, I Know I Can't Quit. Something About You Is So Addictive.

**Author's Note:**

> INSPIRED BY THIS POST:
> 
> http://where-havealltheflowers-gone.tumblr.com/post/58913142919/in-which-mickey-tries-to-be-someone-better
> 
> WHICH GAVE ME SO MANY FEELS THAT I SIMPLY COULD NOT. 
> 
> This got wayyy longer than I anticipated, but no fucks are given. Ian was in active duty for four years, comes home no worse for wear. His family knew what he'd been up to,but haven't seen him since he left. Ummmm. I think that's all the background you need.
> 
> Title, in case you didn't know, is from Here We Go Again by Demi Lavato, because it should be on every Gallavich playlist in existence.
> 
> Feedback is a must. Enjoy.

Ian's smile dropped the second his feet hit the dirty pavement of the Southside road. He hoisted his duffel bag higher on his shoulder, setting his face to a cold, hard stare. He looked both ways before jogging across the street and standing toe-to-toe with the one reason he left.   
Mickey Milkovich.   
"The fuck are you doin' here?" Ian gruffed.  
Mickey tossed the butt of the cigarette he'd been smoking to the ground and stomped on it. "Heard you were comin' back; figured you'd wanna see me." He smirked up the redhead with his eyebrows raised.   
Ian felt his resolve crumble a bit. He had so many questions he wanted the answers to, but he didn't want to ask. Where's your wife? What about the baby? How'd you know I was coming back?   
Did you think about me as much as I thought about you?  
Did you miss me?  
"You're the last person I want to see," Ian said instead.   
Mickey rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against. "Yeah, I'm sure that's true, Gallagher. You got that little rebellious streak outta your system now? 'Cause I ain't had a decent lay since you left."   
"Have you had a lay at all?" Ian asked before he could stop himself.  
"The fuck does that matter?"  
Ian tried his best not to light up. "You haven't," he accused, grin threatening to take over his face, "Why not, Mick? Miss me too much?"   
Mickey narrowed his eyes and looked down at the ground, finger finding its way to his bottom lip. "I did miss you," he admitted softly.  
The grin dropped from Ian's face. "What?" he whispered, taking a small step forward.  
Mickey looked up at him and then to the side. "Fuck it, I missed you, okay? You know I did." He slugged Ian's arm playfully. "Stop tryin' to turn me into a fairy like you."   
Ian snickered. "You already are a fairy like me, Mick."   
"Whatever. You wanna come back to mine? Stella's at work."   
Ian felt like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped on his head. "No," he ground out after a pause, his face schooled back into that stoney expression. "I gotta get home."  
"Yeah. Okay. Later then?"   
"No."   
"Awe, c 'mon, Gallagher. Don't be like that."   
"Be like what, Mickey? You think it's fucking reasonable for you and I to start up again? The exact same shit as before: hiding, sneaking, fucking in alleys and storerooms because you're too ashamed of how you-" Ian stopped himself when he noticed Mickey's face change. Ian had anticipated Mickey trying to get back together, but he had also anticipated anger radiating from Mickey's being so hard that he'd be able to taste it.  
But Mickey wasn't angry.   
Mickey was looking up at him with wide, shiney eyes. Ian noted sadly that the Milkovich had never looked smaller.   
"Fuck this," Ian spat out, "Fuck whatever the hell we had. Fuck you. Fuck your wife. Fuck your dad. Fuck all those nights I couldn't get you out of my head. And fuck the way you expect me to guess what you're thinking. Fuck all of it. I'm done." Ian turned on his heel to go.   
"Ey," Mickey called after him, "I guess the good thing about falling for Mickey Milkovich is you know you can always find someone better, right?"   
Ian shifted his bag on his shoulder, pretended like he hadn't heard, and carried on.

 

"Ian!" Fiona squealed as she got on her tip-toes to hug her little brother. She pulled away briefly to punch him upside the head. "If you ever scare me like that again, I will kill you myself!"   
"Sorry, Fi," Ian replied and turned his head to put his nose in her hair so he could inhale her familiar scent of strawberry shampoo, cigarettes and distress.   
"You aren't," she concluded as she pulled away, "But it's okay because you're back."   
"Where's everyone?" Ian asked as he settled onto the bar stool and let his bag slip to the floor.  
"Out gettin' stuff for your party. Got anybody special you wanna invite?" Fiona leaned against the island and snapped a cracker off between her teeth as she asked.  
"Uh, no?"   
She finished off the cracker with a determined nod and planted her palms on the countertop. "Okay," she started resolutely, "Lip says you were fucking someone when you left and things went sour. I want a name, an address and a detailed description of what went wrong so I can kill the motherfucker who took my brother away from me."   
Ian folded his hands and clenched down on his jaw. "It's really not that big of a deal anymore," he said with a sigh.   
"Like hell it isn't!"   
"Fi, just... leave it alone. I broke things off with him."   
"When?"   
"Just now.. officially."   
She raised her eyebrows. "Did you talk to him while you were gone?"   
Ian thought to the letters buried amongst all his clothes. He recalled the messages he'd gotten at the front desk of the base camp, always the same number and the same two words. He remembered the side-long looks as he ripped open a new letter, balled it up and threw it into the trash bin just to dig it out and read it anyway. He's tried to forget all the nights he sat on his bed, his tiny flashlight the only light in the room, with a blank piece of paper on his lap and a pen in his hand. He'd stare at it until the horn would blast, indicating time to get up and start the day.   
He remembered all the words he'd thought of writing, speaking, whispering, yelling, mumbling and proclaiming.   
All the words he'd never gotten out.   
"No," Ian offered finally, "I didn't talk to him at all.

 

That first day was awkward. Mickey had looked at him like he was a ghost the second he walked into the Kash and Grab.   
"You still work here?" Ian managed after a tense moment.   
"M' the manager," Mickey replied, in a daze. "Do you... Do you want a job?"   
"I want my job," Ian said roughly, turning to go.   
"Hey, hey, wait. You can have it back."   
Ian looked at Mickey over his shoulder, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You'd give me your job?"   
"Yeah, sure. I mean, I only got it 'cause you fucked off. I don't even want it anyway."   
Ian faced him, eyes rolling. "Then why do you have it?"   
"Someone had to be responsible, Gallagher."   
Ian tried not to feel a jab at that, the reminder that Mickey had been the responsible one and stuck around for the people that needed him when Ian hadn't. "Don't call me that."   
"Don't call you what?" Mickey asked as he moved around the counter to punch something into the register. "Don't call you 'Gallagher?' It's your name." He looked at Ian incredulously.   
"My name is Ian."   
"I've... I've always called you Gallagher," Mickey said softly, as if to himself.   
"Things change," Ian resonded shortly and moved into the backroom so Mickey couldn't see the water forming in his eyes. 

 

Mickey let Ian write his own schedule and Ian would have been content to pick days when Mickey wasn't working. The problem was, Mickey was always working.   
"Why are you here all the time?" Ian asked one day as he was filling out the form.   
Mickey shrugged from his place slumping against the magazine rack. "Beats being at home," he mumbled.   
"How is dear, old Terry?" Ian asked, letting the sarcasm drip.  
"He's sick, actually. Cancer. We're all hoping he dies real soon."  
"I couldn't agree more."

 

Ian tried his best not to fall into a routine with Mickey, but it somehow happened without him noticing. Mickey was different; he was considerate, better at expressing his thoughts, less angry. Ian found himself laughing along when Mickey would tell a story about something crazy Mandy did when they were kids. He never talked about his wife or his baby, and, as badly as Ian wanted to know, he never asked.   
Until he did.   
"How's the married life treating you?"   
Mickey stopped stacking condoms for a second. "Women suck, man," he offered casually as he continued stacking, "They're whiney and needy. She's always wantin' me to bang her, which is fucking weird. She's a hooker. I mean, how much dick can she handle?"  
"About as much as you, I guess," Ian mused from his perch on the bench.   
Mickey turned to glare at him. "Ha. Ha. You're a regular comedian." He sauntered up the counter, cracking a beer.  
"So... do you?"   
"Do I what?"   
"Do you fuck her?"   
Mickey almost spewed his drink everywhere. He clamped his hand down on his mouth and swallowed. He wiped his nose, eyes locked on Ian's. "No, Galla- No. I don't."  
"Why not?"   
"You know why not."   
Ian hummed as he flipped the page of his magazine. "Just thought with four years time, you'd be able to say it by now. But I guess-"   
"I'm gay," Mickey interjected. "I love you. And I'm gay."   
Ian's head snapped up, mouth open to try to say something. But Mickey had already walked away. 

 

"We can talk about it, if you want to."   
"Who is this?" Ian asked into the phone.   
"You know who, fuckhead. Don't play stupid."   
"Well, it sounds like Mickey Milkovich, but I know it isn't. Because he never wants to talk about anything important."   
"Shut the fuck up. Things change, remember?"   
"Yeah," Ian mumured, "I remember."   
"I want to be better," Mickey blurted.   
"Better?" Ian asked, dragging the word out slowly. "Better how?" He settled onto his bed.   
"Just better. For you. Because you deserve... better."   
"Oh. I thought you meant in bed."   
Mickey snorted. "Like I need help in that area."   
"That's true," Ian admitted breathlessly.   
"You thinkin' about fucking me, Gallagher?" Mickey asked, his voice low and dirty.  
Ian gulped. "Don't call me that."   
"Never heard you complain when I was screamin' it."   
"Fuck, Mick," Ian gasped as he reached into his sweats to grab his half-hard dick.   
"Goddamn, I've missed you inside of me, man."   
"Missed being inside you," Ian admitted before he thought better of it.  
"Yeah? Oh, shit. You always know how to get me off."   
"You sound.. You sound like a phone sex operator."   
"Fuck off. Get yourself hard."   
Ian reluctantly pulled his hand away from his crotch. "Mickey... we shouldn't.."   
"Why the fuck not?"   
"Because I... I promised myself I wouldn't."   
"You promised yourself you wouldn't jerk off?"   
"No, dumbass. I promised myself I wouldn't have sex with you again."   
Mickey snorted. "This ain't sex, Firecrotch."   
"Don't call me that either."  
"You like it when I call you that. S' like a pet name."   
"What? Like, baby?" Ian couldn't help but grin. "You want be to be your baby, Mick?"   
Mickey blew out a breath into the receiver. "Think you're breakin' up there, Gallagher. Can't quit hear ya."   
"You do! You totally want to call me baby. Just admit it. Just this once?"   
"I, uh... I want to call you baby."   
Ian scooted down into his pillows. "So do it."   
"The fuck am I supposed to say?"   
Ian rolled his eyes. "M' gonna say 'goodnight, Mickey' and you'll say 'goodnight, baby.' Ready? Goodnight, Mickey." Ian gripped the phone tight, pushing it closer to his ear so he could hear Mickey's shallow breathing.   
"Goodnight, baby," Mickey said softly and slowly, like a promise and a prayer.   
Ian swallowed hard. "I'll see you at work tomorrow?"  
"Yeah, sure," Mickey replied, his voice still gentle, "See you then."  
"Okay, bye."   
"Oh, hey, Gallagher. One last thing?"   
"What? And don't call me Gallagher."   
"Okay, Ian," Mickey said pointedly, "I..." Mickey cleared his throat. "I love you."   
"Uh," Ian sputtered, still not used to the words, "Okay." He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers over his temples, as if he could massage away his own stupidity.   
"G' bye."   
"Bye, Mick."

 

Mickey was already at the store the next day when Ian pushed his way through the door. The older man fixed him with a soft smile, "hey, Ian."   
Ian didn't even try to stop himself from smiling. "Hey, Mick."   
Mickey smiled lop-sidedly at him before going back to scribbling on the notepad in front of him.   
"Whatcha doin'?" Ian asked as he leaned over the countertop to try to look at the piece of paper.   
Mickey shrugged. "Nothing really." But he flipped it closed and stashed it on the shelf under the counter. "What are you doing, Firecrotch?"  
"I thought we decided 'firecrotch' wasn't a very nice pet name," Ian teased.   
Mickey snorted and thumbed through his magazine. "If ya think I'm callin' you 'baby' in public, you're fucked in the head."  
Ian moved over to the rack to pluck up a magazine for himself. "Speaking of babies, how's yours?"   
Mickey peered at him. "I don't... the fuck are you talkin' about?"  
Ian looked up. "Your wife had a kid, didn't she?"   
"Not that I know of."   
"You're not making sense, Mickey."   
"I'm the one not makin' sense? I don't even know what the hell you're saying."   
Ian slapped his magazine down on the counter. "Mandy said," he started slowly, "You married her because you knocked her up."   
"Uh, no." He turned back to his reading. "My dad musta just told her that so she wouldn't ask questions."   
Ian ripped the magazine from Mickey's hands. "Why the fuck did you marry her then?"   
"The fuck, Gallagher? Gimme the magazine."   
"Tell me why you married her."   
"Why does it matter?"   
"Because it does!" Ian yelled at him. "Because there's no good explanation for marrying a woman when you're gay, but you did! And, now, you're saying the one reason people even get married in this town, the reason I thought all this time was the reason you married her in the first place, isn't the real reason! And that isn't supposed to matter to me? What the fu-"   
"I did it because he threatened you, alright?"   
That gave Ian pause. He dropped his arm, keeping a loose grip on the magazine. "What?"   
"Terry!" Mickey proclaimed, his own frustration evident now,"He said he'd kill you if I didn't marry her. Said you'd be dead by morning, and no one would ever find the body! He could do it, too. So, I... I married her. I thought I was doin' you a favor, keepin' you alive and all. I thought, out of all the shit I've dragged you through, maybe giving up my life would be enough to make up for it! It didn't mean we couldn't have been together still! It never meant anything more than what it was. What you and I had..." Mickey took a breath, lowering his voice and avoiding Ian's gaze. "What you and I had, it was special. It meant something to me. I don't know what, just something. And I.. I loved you. I still do. Me gettin' married didn't change that, and neither did you leavin'."   
"So why didn't you stop me?"   
Mickey gnawed on his lip. "Fuck, Galla- Ian. You know I couldn't have. Nothing I would have said would have meant fuck all to you. You had your mind made up; I know you well enough to know what that looks like. And who was I to stop you?"   
Ian nodded because he knew what Mickey was saying was true; Ian wouldn't have listened back then. But he was listening now. "M' sorry I yelled at you."   
The corner of Mickey's mouth turned up. "Gimme my fucking magazine."   
Ian flopped it down in front of the Milkovich, all smiles. 

 

"M' goin' to the McDonald's down the road. What do you want?"   
Ian looked over the top of his computer into Mickey's eyes. "Are you talking to me?"   
Mickey rolled his eyes. "No, fuckhead, I'm talkin' to all our crazy costumers."   
"Why are you... I mean.. Why are you asking?"   
"S' like one and I'm fuckin' starving."   
"So just go."   
"You haven't eaten yet either, dipshit."  
"Why do you care?"   
"Goddamnit, Ian. I'm goin' to get food. Don't make everything a fucking soap opera. Do you want something or not?"   
"I mean, yeah. I guess." Ian went to dig in his pocket. "Do you want money?" He asked, looking up at Mickey expectantly. The Milkovich just gave him a blank stare. "Oh...kay. Well, I usually get-"   
"I know," Mickey called over his shoulder as he shoved the door open, "Be back in a sec."  
Mickey thundered in about fifteen minutes later and presented Ian with a double cheeseburger without the pickles, barbeque sauce for his fries and a vanilla milkshake. Ian had to clamp down on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. 

 

"This is such a bad idea," Ian gasped out as he was shoved into the wall.   
"Just shut the fuck up and come on," Mickey commanded before pulling off the redhead and tugging him up the stairs. "Which one?" he asked as he regarded the bedrooms.   
Ian shoved past him, stripping his shirt as he went, and crashed on his bed. He scooched up so he was surrounded by his pillows.   
Mickey wiggled his tongue into the corner of his mouth as he regarded him and yanked his shirt over his head, dirty smirk playing on his face. "Damn," he murmured as he straddled Ian and ran a hand over the younger man's torso.  
Ian quirked his eyebrows playfully. "See something ya like, Micheal?"   
Mickey ran a thumb over Ian's left nipple and hummed in agreement. "Want you to fuck me," he murmured.   
"What? No comment about me calling you by your real name?"   
Mickey breathed out a sharp laugh. "You can call me whatever you'd like, s' long as you get inside me."  
Ian squirmed underneath him, feeling Mickey's hard-on rub against his stomach. "Actually..."   
"What? What's wrong?"   
"I don't think I can.. I mean.." Ian groped for words, rubbing circles on Mickey's hipbones with his thumbs. "M' really wasted."   
Mickey's eyebrows pulled down in confusion, only to shoot up a minute later. "You mean you can't...?" He glanced down at Ian's soft dick, still hidden by his jeans.  
Ian felt his face heat up. "I'm sorry. God, this is so embarrassing."   
Mickey rested his hands over Ian's shoulders. "Hey, s' fine. Happens to everybody." He moved to get off Ian.  
Ian leaned over, propped up on his elbow. "Guess you're gonna leave now, huh."   
Mickey snickered, his hands already unbuttoning his jeans. "Wasn't plannin' on it. Shove over, asshole. You're takin' up the whole bed."   
"What're you-" Ian's words were cut off by Mickey pushing him until he rolled onto his back.   
They were shoulder to shoulder. Well, they were until Mickey turned on his side and draped his arm over Ian's stomach and nestled his head into Ian's shoulder.   
"Okay," Ian said abruptly, "What gives?"   
"M' sleepin'."   
"You're cuddling. You told me Milkoviches don't cudde."   
"And you told me you wished we did. Shut the fuck up; I'm tired."   
"You weren't tired a few seconds ago."  
"Well, I am now, Firecrotch. Go to sleep before I start makin' fun of you."   
"You wouldn't."   
Mickey snorted. "Does the Kash and Grab sell Viagra?" he asked innocently after a second of silence.  
"I am not the only one with a problem when they're baked. Do you remember the time you-"   
"I said I'm sleeping," Mickey interrupted promptly and moved his head so Ian couldn't see his face. 

 

"Alright," Fiona said as she slammed Ian's plate down in front of him, "Why the hell is Mickey Milkovich in our shower?"   
"Because he never bathes?" Lip offered from where he was standing with the fridge open and the orange juice carton in his hand.   
Debbie thrust a glass into his empty palm. "Probably because he and Ian had sex last night."   
"Debs!" Fiona cried.   
"What?" she asked with a shrug. She turned to Ian, "Honestly, the fact that he didn't wash the come off of him last night is rather disgusting. Also, change your sheets."   
"Debbie!"   
She put a hand on her hip. "Sex is a natural and beautiful thing, Fiona. Get over it," she snarled as she bounded up the stairs.   
"Okay, since when is Debs like, an adult?" Ian asked as he spooned Cheerios into his mouth.  
"Maybe since you left, dickhead," Lip said, plucking Ian's toast from his plate.   
Ian rolled his eyes. "Real funny."   
"Did you have sex with Mickey Milkovich last night with your underage brothers in the room?" Fiona asked him.   
Ian opened his mouth to respond when there was a cough from the stairs. Mickey stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes shifting to the door. He reached up to scratch the back of his hair. "Should I, uh..." he stuttered as he gestured towards the door.   
"No," Fiona said, even though the Milkovich was asking her brother, "No, sit. Eat somethin'. I'm sure last night made you very hungry."   
"Oh, we didn't-"   
"I don't need the details, Mickey. Sit down here."   
Mickey darted his eyes between Ian and his sister, eyebrows raised. Ian jerked his head to the stool next to him, smile on his face.   
Fiona dropped her elbows on the counter across from him and rested her chin in her hands. "Mickey Milkovich," she mused, "The reason Ian left, I'm assuming."   
"Fiona-" Ian started.   
"What, Ian? What?" she cried incredulously, "He broke your heart, drove you out of town and your just gonna let him fuck his way back into your life? I won't stand for it!" She pointed a finger in Mickey's face. "Look, kid. I don't give a shit if your dad is the scariest motherfucker the Southside has ever seen, if you hurt Ian again, I will fuck your ass up. No questions asked."   
Mickey nodded slowly. "Got it."  
She dropped her arms, a confused look on her face. She had expected more of a fight. "Okay. Good. I gotta go now." She gathered her purse and slammed the door behind her when she left. She didn't even get all the way down the stairs before the door squeaked open behind her. She turned, her brain already working out a way to defend her actions to her brother.  
But her brother wasn't the one latching the door softly behind him and looking at her timidly. "M' just gonna be straightforward," Mickey started, pushing a hand through his still-damp hair, "I love Ian. I have from the very beginning. My dad..." he looked away from her before locking her with a serious stare. "My dad is a fucked-up, phsycopathic prick who would rather me be straight and miserable than gay and happy. And that's what Ian does for me; he makes me happy. I know I'm shit for him and I know you all hate me because I'm the reason he left, but.. goddamnit, I did what I had to to keep him safe. And if that's not love...fuck everything I know."   
Fiona opened her mouth and clamped it shut again. "You gonna hurt him?"  
"Never again."   
"You really love him?"   
Mickey nodded resolutely.   
"Does he love you?"   
Mickey ran his finger over his lower lip and hooked his hands on his hips. "I don't think so, not anymore."   
Fiona cocked her head to the side. "Did you really fuck him with my kid brothers in the room?"   
"No." Mickey smirked. "And if we had...well, I'm not the one who does the-"   
Fiona clamped her hands over her ears. "Don't need to know," she shouted as she turned on her heel to walk away. She lowered her hands. "You're an idiot, by the way, if you think he doesn't love ya."   
Mickey grinned as he slipped back into the house.   
"What'd she say?" Ian asked through a bite of his breakfast.  
Mickey lifted his shoulders and grabbed Ian's last piece of toast. "Nothing much." 

 

"D' you remember the first time I fucked you?" Mickey asked, his hands roaming over Ian's back.  
"Mmm," Ian hummed in response, "Wouldn't have called it fucking."   
Mickey barked out a laugh. "You tried to say 'making love' and I lost my shit."   
Ian scrunched his brow. "You punched me in the face."   
Mickey reached up to hook his index finger under Ian's chin and turn the redhead to face him. "M' sorry I ever hurt you."   
Ian lifted the edge of his lips and shrugged. "Doesn't matter now." Mickey bit his lip and thrust into Ian again, hitting the younger man's prostate. "Fuck," Ian groaned and dropped his head to Mickey's pillow, "Do that again."   
Mickey did as he was asked. Over and over. Until he reached around to strip Ian's dick, only seconds before coming himself. He collapsed onto Ian's back with a huff and kissed his jawline. "Love you."  
"Kinda hard to hold you like this, Mick."   
Mickey rolled over, gritting his teeth against the ache in his chest.   
"Still like it when I do it better?" Ian asked around a grin.   
Mickey shrugged. "As long as there's fucking goin' on, I'm down."   
Ian rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You're such a bottom bitch."   
"Likin' what I like does not make me a bitch, Gallagher."   
Ian smiled even more. "Yeah." He turned so he was cuddled into to Mickey's side, beaming when the Milkovich lifted his arm to wrap it around Ian's back.

 

The bell tinkled and Ian didn't even bother to address it. "I thought you locked it," Mickey said breathlessly, breaking his lips away from Ian's.  
"Just shut up and they won't come back here," Ian said, leaning down to suck Mickey's bottom lip between his teeth.   
"Hello?" someone called, "Anyone here?"   
Mickey pulled back, causing Ian to whine. "Shh. I recognize that voice."   
"Gingersnap?" the guy yelled.   
Mickey's face got dark and shoved Ian away from him roughly. He unlocked the door. "Stay here," he ordered gruffly as he pushed it open.   
Ian moved so he could peak through the freezer door at the duo. The conversation was muffled by the glass.   
"Oh," Lloyd said when Mickey emerged, pleasant, as if seeing him was a treat, "Mickey, is it? I heard Ian was back."   
Mickey crossed his arms. "Yeah, and?"   
Lloyd's smile didn't even falter. "I'd like to see him."   
"S' been four years, man. Think it's time for you to move on."   
Lloyd chuckled as he leaned against the counter. "The same could be said to you, son."   
"I'm not your son," Mickey snarled.   
"And you're not Ian's boyfriend either, are you?"   
Something like hurt flashed behind Mickey's eyes before he schooled his expression again. "What Ian and I are is none of your fucking business."   
Lloyd laughed coldly. "You and Ian aren't anything. I took care of him. I bought him things, nice things. I took him places. What have you ever done for him?"   
Mickey faltered.   
"He's loved me," Ian said from behind him, sauntering up to slip his hand into Mickey's. "The whole time." He smiled gently down at the brunette before fixing Lloyd with an angry look. "Leave."  
"Oh, Ian, you can't be serious."   
"Go. I'm with Mickey now. Don't come back."   
Lloyd scoffed as he shoved the door open roughly.   
When Ian looked to grin at Mickey, the Milkovich was gazing up at him hopefully. "D' you mean it?" he asked softly, "You're really with me?"  
Ian sighed and crowded into Mickey's space, shoving him against a nearby shelf. He kissed him lightly. "You're different, Mick," he whispered, "Really different. But all the parts I fell for are the same."  
"Was just tryin' to be someone better."   
"What do you meant?"   
"'The good thing about falling for Mickey Milkovich is you know you can always find someone better,'" Mickey quoted, a sad smile on his face.   
"You are," Ian reassured, "You are someone better."


End file.
